These Ghosts are Fart-Knockers
by The Cry-Wank Kid
Summary: When Beavis and Butthead accidentally wander into Murder House, only chaos can ensue. Beavis bothers Tate while Butthead tries unsuccessfully to score with various ghost ladies.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is what happens when I get bored at work and try to dream up the most ridiculous crossovers possible. If you can't stand to see AHS characters be poked fun at, then don't read this. I love AHS (and Beavis and Butthead, but that's another story) and Tate, who I particularly pick on here, is one of my favorite characters. It's all in fun.**

It was a long, hot, boring day in Highland. School was out, Stuart wasn't around to torture, Todd was nowhere to be found, and worst of all, the TV was broken. The only channel working was the public access Bible channel.

"This sucks," remarked Butthead after watching some butt-dumpling bellow about Jesus for the fifth consecutive hour. "Let's go get some nachos."

"Um, Butthead?" Said Beavis cautiously after about an hour of walking, "I don't think we went the right way."

"Shut up, butt-munch, I already said we're almost there."

When he looked around, though, Butthead wasn't so sure. This didn't look like their neighborhood. In fact, it didn't look like Highland at all. The small, dilapidated homes and grungy corner stores were gone, replaced by large green lawns, swimming pools, and what looked to him like mansions. Just then, he heard what sounded like crying coming from the inside of a particularly large, old-looking home with no cars parked in front of it.

"Beavis, do you hear that?" He asked.

"Hear what? Dammit, this sucks, I wanted nachos and now we're lost!"

"Shut the hell up, you fart-knocker! I think I hear crying inside of that house. It must be a chick."

The pair had watched enough soap operas to know that when a chick cried, it was the perfect opportunity to swoop in and turn her frown upside-down, so to speak. If daytime TV was any indication, at the end of it, you usually scored. Forgetting about nachos completely, Beavis and Butthead crept around the side of the strange house and crawled in an open window.

Inside the large, dark hallway, they could hear the crying more acutely but still weren't sure where, exactly, it was coming from. They agreed to split up in opposite directions in hope of finding out.

While Butthead wandered off to God knew where, Beavis walked down the long hallway, the crying growing progressively louder as he went. He finally opened the door at the hall's end.

"Uh, hey, baby," he said seductively. "I'm here to like, make it all better. Yeah, huh huh... score..."

Tate Langdon looked up at him, startled. The doe-eyed ghost was enjoying his afternoon cry as usual and hadn't expected to be interrupted, especially not by some ugly blonde kid he'd never seen before.

"Wait a minute!" Exclaimed Beavis, indignant,"You're not a chick!" He squinted at the ghost's pretty features and baggy sweater. It was possible, he realized, that this WAS a chick with short hair and not-very-big thingies. "Wait... are you?"

Tate was not amused by this in any way. "Get out!" He screamed, wiping his cry-snot all over his sleeve. "Whoever you are, get out, or you'll be a ghost soon, if you're not one already!"

"Ghost? Huh huh, cool. Like in that movie with that Edward dude who looks like he always has to take a turd really bad..."

"That's vampires, you idiot!"

"Huh huh huh... poop..."

Frustrated and eager to get back to his cry, Tate decided to try and scare the intruder away. "My name is Tate Langdon," he said in a low, eerie voice. "I died right here in this bedroom in 1994. I got gunned down by a SWAT team. You know why? Because I went to my high school with a gun and I killed fifteen kids. I didn't feel anything, no regret, I just gunned them right down and walked away. Now if you don't go, I'm about to do the same thing to you..."

"Whoa, cool!" Beavis's eyes lit up. Maybe this Tate dude wasn't such a wuss after all. "Like bang, bang! Tate is awesome! Even cooler than Todd!"

Tate sighed, exiting the bedroom without another word. Beavis followed close behind, making gun noises as he went, eager to spend as much time as possible with his new hero.

Meanwhile, Butthead wandered down the basement stairs to find a blonde chick in old-timey looking clothes, sitting in a chair and staring sadly into space.

"Uh huh huh... Hey, baby..."

Nora Montgomery snapped to attention, disoriented and frantic. "Baby?" She asked, breathless. "You have my baby?"'

Taking this as a sexual invite, Butthead sat down next to her in the large chair. "That's right," he said, his hand unceremoniously grazing Nora's right breast, "You just, like, lay back, and let me turn on the magic... Huh huh huh..."

Nora screamed, horrified. "How uncouth!" She cried shrilly, jumping up. "Unhand me at once, you wretched boy! Why, I never in all my life! Oh, I'll have you taken away! Why he-he tried to touch my bosom!"

Charles appeared out of the shadows, shaking his head forebodingly at Butthead. Startled, Butthead ran backwards into an antique Tiffany lamp that Nora had saved from her life in the 1920's, shattering it.

Nora was beside herself. "And now he's breaking my things!" She shrieked, tears in her eyes. In her fury, she picked up another Tiffany lamp and hurled it at the grungy boy herself, narrowly missing him as it shattered against the basement wall. "Get out!" She screamed, her voice high and piercing. "Get out, _get out!"_

"Wha-ah-_aaah_!" Screamed Butthead as Thaddeus appeared, baring his sharp yellow teeth at him. He ran clumsily back up the basement stairs, leaving a litter of broken heirlooms in his wake.

"Beavis!" He called as he reached the top, "This place sucks! Come on, you ass-munch, let's go!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Heh, no way, Butthead," Beavis murmured to no one in particular, hearing his friend in the distance but choosing to ignore him for the time being. "This house is cool."

Tate and his new companion entered the Murder House kitchen, where Travis, who still hadn't quite grasped the whole "we're all dead" concept, was shirtless and making himself a protein shake. For once in his afterlife, Tate was glad to see him.

Travis's eyes lit up at the sight of the two blonde teenagers. "Hey, Tater-Tot!" He said warmly. "Who's your new friend?" He had been hoping since death that Tate would warm up to him and thought that a whimsical nickname might be just the trick.

"I asked you not to call me that," Tate said, glaring at Travis's toned abs and wishing he'd done more sit-ups before shooting up that school. "And he's not my friend. I don't know who he is, just that he won't go away." He wasn't fond of Travis because in life the twenty-something had dated his mom. Tate also felt that the former aspiring star threatened his own status as Murder House Heartthrob (a title Ben Harmon also liked to claim for himself).

Travis looked nonplussed. He squinted at Tate's reddened eyes and runny nose that he kept wiping on his sleeve. "Have you been crying again? I told you you can always come talk to me, remember?" He picked up a napkin from the counter and attempted to hand it to Tate.

"Whatever, I don't... cry..." Tate muttered, batting the napkin away with his hand. Travis raised a skeptical eyebrow while Beavis stood in the background, making machine gun noises and working himself up into a frenzy.

"What's your name, buddy?" Asked Travis. "How'd you get here?" Tate breathed a silent sigh of relief. Perhaps he could pass this annoying kid off on dumb, personable Travis.

"Bang, bang, kill, kill!" Beavis muttered manically. He found an abandoned cup of coffee on the counter and downed it in one gulp. "Tate killed people! Tate is awesome!"

"Stop it!" Tate cried, forgetting the whole scary-ghost routine he'd been trying to employ to get rid of Beavis. "You think I'm not tortured by that every single day?!" He promptly burst into tears.

"Aw, Tater-Tot!" Exclaimed Travis sympathetically. "Do you need a shoulder, bro? Cause I can go put on a shirt, and like, we can hug it out..."

"Don't... call... me... that..." Tate sobbed. Shaking and making strange, frantic noises, Beavis reached across the counter for Travis's protein shake, spilling the whole container of protein powder onto the floor in the process.

"Hey!" Cried Travis. "I was gonna drink that! You have no manners!"

"Oh God," wept Tate, "_Why_ can't I be dead-dead?! I'm stuck here with this asshole who won't leave me alone, and this _other_ asshole who screwed my mom!"

"You scored with his mom?!" Beavis asked excitedly, turning to Travis. "Sweet! Was she hot?"

"Yeah..." said Travis dreamily, smiling at the memory of Constance.

Tate slid down the wall and curled his knees up to his chest, sobbing profusely.

"You're like, making him all sad," said Travis, snapping back to reality as Beavis guzzled his protein shake. "And-oh God, my protein powder! Ugh, and I can never go buy more because I'm dead! God. Freaking. Dammit!"

He went to punch Beavis but slipped in the spilt powder, bashing his own face on the way down. He cried out in agony, swearing, as the strange boy rooted through the kitchen cupboards, indiscriminately popping things into his mouth. Tate wept hysterically, punching the floor and gasping, "Make it stop! Somebody please make it Stah-hah-haaaahp!"

Butthead, who at that point had found his way to the second floor, heard the various exclamations coming from downstairs but didn't bother to investigate them. He was having problems of his own.

**I'm enjoying all this silliness. Thanks too everyone who viewed! Review me and I'll review some of yours? **


	3. Chapter 3

Vivien Harmon sat atop her bed, idly rubbing her smooth legs and wondering when her husband, Ben, would be done putting the baby down for a nap. Things had been rocky prior to death, that much she couldn't deny, but the past two years spent as ghosts had brought the couple a renewed passion. Ben didn't fart as a ghost, which was a plus, and he cried considerably less. It almost made her wonder why her daughter, Violet, aside from the whole mass-murderer-and-rapist thing, had rejected her own ghost boyfriend. And it almost, _almost_ made up for the horrible fate of being struck for eternity as the parents of a newborn and a teenager. But not quite.

She heard the bedroom door open and looked up, expecting Ben. Instead, she was startled to see an ungainly teenager with dark hair and braces. _That's_ _weird_, Vivien thought, _I thought I knew who all the other ghosts were._

"I'm like, a pleasure machine," Butthead stammered.

"What in the world?"

"Huh huh... it's okay, I like older women... they like, teach me things." Butthead sat down on the bed and rubbed Vivien's thigh creepily.

"Who the hell are you?" Vivien bellowed, which made Ben come running. He shook his head and punched his own palm threateningly. A fight almost ensued, but Butthead diverted Ben by doing the Triple Inverted Buttknocker Twist, a special dance of his own creation. It ended with Ben tripping and accidentally punching himself in the face.

"Get the hell out of Murder House!" He yelled, furious.

"Heh, stop hitting yourself..." quipped Butthead dumbly as he scurried from the room.

After a brief liaison with Hayden, who almost let him score but was ultimately put off by his smell, Butthead sat calmly in the upstairs bathroom, cackling softly and steadily. Ghosts, while they magically possess the capacity for blood, tears, sexual fluids, and snot, don't need to use the bathroom, and Moira had grown lazy about dusting.

"Murder House rules," he said to no one in particular, before flushing the toilet.

Downstairs, Beavis had consumed some of the psych meds Ben used to prescribe to his patients, and was momentarily so removed from reality that Travis and Tate were able to sneak off without him.

"My freaking nose won't stop bleeding," Travis grumbled. The two were crouched behind a large couch in the living room, hiding.

"I told you, he's an asshole! We've got to figure out some way to get rid of him."

"Yeah, and the brown haired one, too." Travis had seen Butthead upon his entry but hadn't thought much of it until just then.

"There's another one?"

"Yeah. He went... upstairs, I think."

Tate's smirked, his eyes taking on an evil glint. It might have actually been scary had he not been a boy who could fit into larger-sized Garanimals clothing, and had his face not still been puffy and splotchy from crying.

"I got this," he said, nodding at Travis before standing up. His excessive weeping may have ruined any shot he had at scaring Beavis, but now he had a second chance. If he could frighten away this fabled brown haired one, Tate reasoned, then the blonde was sure to follow.

"Stay here and make sure he doesn't, like, burn the house down," he told Travis. "I'm going upstairs."

At the top of the stairs Tate saw Butthead, wandering lackadaisically as if he'd just emerged from a pleasant dream. And what was that room he'd just sauntered so happily out of? _One of the old guest bedrooms,_ Tate thought, though he couldn't quite remember. That asshole had been sleeping! Blithely enjoying pleasant dreams in a house that wasn't his while his friend terrorized its inhabitants. This had to stop.

Tate disappeared and re-materialized in Butthead's path. His arms were crossed over his chest and his dark eyes were devious. He'd show this kid a thing or two about _dreaming._

"I used to do that too, you know," he said in a flat, low tone. "I don't anymore. I haven't since 1994."

"Uhh, maybe you should try eating more fiber," said Butthead, remembering a commercial for nutrition bars that he'd recently seen.

Tate looked frustrated and baffled. This wasn't going at all how he'd planned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: *Cheesy getaway music plays* Beavis and Butthead are not role models. They're not even human, they're cartoons. Some of the things they do could cause a person to get hurt, expelled, arrested, possibly murdered by an angry mob of ghosts. To put it another way, don't try this at home.**

* * *

Beavis stood in the backyard with Troy and Bryan. After a brief stint as The Great Cornholio, a frantic Travis had banished him there to be entertained by the two ginger preteens. A neighborhood dog had wandered in through a hole in the fence, and the trio were amusing themselves by watching it poop. Finally some cool people around here, Beavis thought, as the three of them cackled in unison.

* * *

Meanwhile, Butthead's head was spinning with shock and delight. It was really happening; he was finally going to score! The hot redhead in the skimpy maid costume crawled atop him on the guest room bed, her eyes hungry and seductive.

"Whoa..." He muttered as she went to pull down his shorts. "Come to Butthead..."

"Moira!" Suddenly Vivien appeared in the doorway, looking horrified. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Moira stopped short. "He's... going to exhume my bones..." She answered meekly, trailing off.

"He's not going to exhume your bones, you idiot! He's just some random kid who wandered in here! For God's sake, you should know better than this!"

Moira met Butthead's gaze uneasily, looking as if she might puke. "It's okay," he said, "huh huh, you can exhume _my_ bone..."

With a disgusted cry Moira pushed herself off of him and fled the room. A second later she could be heard screaming, having slipped in water from the overflowed toilet.

Before Butthead could even begin to process his disappointment, he was grabbed at the shirt collar and pulled downstairs by Ben Harmon. The man dragged the boy into the large living room and shoved him into the center beside his blonde companion.

For the first time, then, the duo were able to fully take in the scene. Almost every ghost in Murder House had assembled in one room before them, sitting on the couches and leaning against the walls-at every angle a pair of glaring, ghostly eyes focused solely on them.

The ghosts were in disarray. Troy and Bryan were near tears, rubbing their eyes and pouting, inexplicably covered to their waists in dog poop and manure fertilizer. Travis was still nursing a nosebleed, and Ben had the beginning of a black eye. Vivien, her dress torn at one shoulder, was glowering with a fussy baby in her arms. Moira had a bruised knee, and Hayden was wet clear through from toilet water. Nora was crying, as was Tate.

"Whoa," observed Beavis quietly, "like, a lot of people live here, Butthead."

"We're ghosts, you morons!" Shouted Ben. "We _died_ here!"

"Uhh, wait," began Butthead, the slow wheels in his head beginning to turn at last. "Are you guys, like, ghosts?"

Ben gave a long, angry cry, kicking the backside of the couch where Nora sat, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief and trying to compose herself. Beside her sat Tate, who was making no such effort. A long string of snot dripped out of his nose.

"Can I borrow that for a second?" he asked, turning to Nora.

"Hmph," muttered Nora, turning away from Tate with her arms crossed.

Pulling himself together, Ben spoke: "As you can all see, I've called you here because we have a little bit of a problem," he began sharply, addressing the crowd. "Namely, these two assholes who sauntered in here from God knows where and have caused nothing but trouble for all of us since they've been here! The brown-haired one tried to screw my wife!"

"Yeah!" chimed in Vivien, "He tried to screw me!"

"And me," added Hayden.

"And Nora," said Charles Montgomery.

"...and me," said Moira reluctantly, looking sheepish now that she was back in her older form. Cackling softly, Butthead reached out for her boob, but she smacked his hand away and shook her finger at him.

"The blonde one spilled all my protein powder!" griped Travis.

"They broke my fine things," sniveled Nora.

"They..." began Tate, gasping for breath, "they... oh God, she told me to go a-way-hah-aaah! Violeh-heh-hettt!"

"_Shut up, Tate!_" Yelled all the other ghosts in unison. He fell over sideways and attempted to cry into Hayden's shoulder, but she pushed him off of her, muttering "ugh".

"Well," said Ben sternly, "What do you all propose we do about these new pests? Huh?"

For a long minute the room was silent, save for Beavis and Butthead's subdued cackling and one instance where Tate blew his nose loudly into the hem of his shirt while still wearing it. Nora scooted further away from him, as did Hayden.

"Cause I'll tell you what I propose we do," spoke up Ben again, breaking the silence. "I propose we kill them! Because I'm _pissed_, and I'm _dead_, and it would _feel good_, and we can get away with it! What do you all say?"

Tate stood, looking suddenly vengeful in his soggy sweater. "I'm in," he said.

"Great! Get the knife, Tate, and I'll get the bat!"

In an instant the two ghosts were advancing towards Beavis and Butthead with their weapons. Behind them crept all the others, murder in their eyes, many of them picking up random blunt objects. They were right about to strike when Violet Harmon came running into the room, waving her hands frantically above her head.

"What in the hell are you guys doing?!" She screamed, so loudly that her voice cracked. "Tate! Dad! All of you, _stop_!"

The room froze in motion, every eye turning to the small teenage ghost in the oversized cardigan.

"V-Violet..." whispered Tate, his eyes filling with new tears, "you're talking to me..." It was the first time she'd acknowledged his presence at all since telling him to go away two years prior.

Violet rolled her eyes. "Have you all just forgotten where we live?" she demanded, looking around. "This is _Murder House_! You realize what will happen if you kill them, right?"

More silence. The angry mob surrounding Ben and Tate began to disperse slowly.

Violet sighed heavily. "If you _kill_ them," she said, "then we'll all be stuck with them forever! God, why am I saying this? You all know this! Did every one of you just like, selectively forget that just now? Ugh, I swear sometimes I'm the only person in this _God_-forsaken house with any brains!"

"She's right," said Charles quietly. The ghost around him murmured in agreement, slightly abashed.

Ben gave a loud, frustrated sigh before dropping the bat and exiting the room to go blow off steam in his study. On the way out he tried to kick an ottoman but missed. "Damn high school punks..." he muttered as he left.

Tate lowered the knife slowly, staring forlornly at Violet while his face leaked. "I love you..." He sniffled quietly.

"Whatever, Tate, go away again."

Every eye in the room turned to the sweater-clad school shooter, their breath held, waiting.

"I... I... I need a Kleenex!" He exclaimed before dropping the knife and running from the room in tears. Travis ran after him, shouting "Tater-Tot, wait!"

Beavis chose this exact moment to audibly cut one. "Heh, go away, Tate," he said matter-of-factly, in lieu of "excuse me".

Violet lost her temper. "_Go now_! Get out, get out, _get out_!" She yelled, pushing and kicking the boys to the front door, and then out of it.

"...And don't ever come back!" She screamed after them, with one last swift kick as they tumbled out into the dwindling daylight.

"Oww!" Screeched Beavis, rubbing where his butt was sore from Violet's small, sharp foot. "These ghosts are fart-knockers!"

* * *

The spirits of Murder House dispersed slowly through the building's floors and rooms, back to the timeless, endless existence of trapped souls. Some would forget themselves, floating off for hours or decades into some kind of vague, unconscious limbo. Others would pace the floors day and night, filled with rage, regret, or sorrow, pondering their doomed existence ceaselessly and wishing things were different. Beavis and Butthead, meanwhile, walked into the sunset in the direction of Highland, beginning the long trek home to the town and the lives they knew.

"Hey Butthead?" asked Beavis, "Why does that Tate dude cry so much?"

"Uhh, he like, hasn't taken a crap since 1994."

"Oh," said Beavis thoughtfully. "That explains a lot, actually..."

"Yeah," agreed Butthead, "But still, Beavis, today was pretty cool."

The End


End file.
